


an object to crave

by ashley-amelie (kitana)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Bondage, Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, M/M, Ownership, Very Light Asphyxiation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:47:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2369897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitana/pseuds/ashley-amelie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Getting a new owner is always tricky, Alfred finds.</p>
            </blockquote>





	an object to crave

**Author's Note:**

> please take this porn at face value and don’t think on its premise too hard
> 
> loosely based on [this kink meme prompt](http://aphkinkmeme.tumblr.com/post/98107537690/part-26-any-male-any-master-slave-bought-for)

Getting a new owner is always tricky, Alfred finds. He’s been through enough of them that he pretty much knows what to expect; they’ll put a collar on him (always a collar), they’ll give him daily activities -- scrub this, prepare that -- and, if he does well enough, he’ll get meat instead of bread and perhaps a shiny bauble to hoard.

It’s been like this all of his life, so he has no reason to think otherwise. Until he’s sold again (these owners are so fickle, get bored of looking at him so easily) and he’s naked and kneeling in front of a gentle-looking man, blonde-haired and violet-eyed, that presses a dry thumb to his lips and says, in an equally gentle tone,

“Have you ever sucked a cock before?”

“Um.” The question makes Alfred pause, face heating instantly at the lewd words. It seems like something he should be answering yes to, with the way the man’s thumb repeatedly traces over his mouth, but he’s terrible at lying. So he answers, averting blue eyes elsewhere, “That wasn’t in my training, um, sir.”

He still hasn’t been told what to call this new owner.

The look Alfred gets in response is one of mild disappointment at best; still it settles heavy in his belly like a boulder, intensifying when the man pulls his hand away. _I’m gonna get sent away_ , he thinks, trying to stop his eyes from watering involuntarily as he stares at a blank wall.

He’ll be sold, yet again, and there’s only a so many times he can be bought before his history is too long and no one will ever want him again. He’s heard stories of what happens to house slaves who can’t be sold on the main market; of how owners find other ways to get rid of them.

Alfred doesn’t want to be one of those stories.

He doesn’t realize he’s started chewing on his lip until his owner tsks at him and takes him by the chin, forcing his head up.

“That’s a bad habit you’ve got there, eh,” the man says. Alfred can practically feel his eyes on his mouth, surveying the reddened flesh. “First rule for you, no more biting.”

Unable to nod, Al answers with a simple, “Okay, sir.”

The nervous urge to continue biting his lip is strong, stronger now that he’s been expressly forbidden from doing it.

“Matthew,” the man corrects, letting go of Alfred’s chin. His voice still has that soft, calm tone, but Alfred senses the implicit command underneath it. That much he is trained for. “That’s my name and what you’ll address me by going forward, alright?”

“Yes, sir—er, Matthew.” Alfred catches himself, mouthing the name silently afterward, testing the weight of it in his mouth.

“Much better.”

Matthew smiles, his eyes crinkling at the edges behind round glasses as he takes hold of the short leather leash still connected to Alfred’s collar. Alfred stands as prompted, insides squirming with sudden delight; Matthew’s smile is a genuine smile, of a kind Alfred can’t readily recall seeing, and it feels like praise all on its own.

Following behind his new owner down a long corridor, Alfred takes in the coloured lamps and vibrant artwork adorning the walls. He’s usually a smidge more cautious about talking out of turn, but Alfred has a feeling it won’t be minded.

“So what now? …Matthew,” he asks, adding Matt’s name after a pause. It’ll be a while before the syllables aren’t strange on his tongue.

Matt brings them both to a stop in front of a closed door, that pleased smile still tugging at his lips.

“Just a bit of supplemental training. Nothing that’ll be too hard for you, I’m sure.”

  
  
  
  


Twenty minutes later, Al’s sure that Matthew’s definition of ‘hard’ slightly differs from his own. Being fairly strong, Alfred knows how to lift things and chop wood; knows how to build pig pens and chicken-wire fences. He even knows how to dress and groom horses, should that skill be needed.

But this isn’t any of that.

And it’s unexpectedly difficult.

Alfred kneels, still nude, on a soft square pillow placed on the floor specifically for him. His wrists are bound behind his back, attached to his ankles with a length of rope so short that he can’t fully pull himself upright. That leaves him splaying his legs to balance comfortably, putting his crotch on display for anyone who would care to see, and with blood rushing to his head as it tilts back with the rest of his body.

To add to that, Matthew makes him open his mouth as wide as he can, fitting a device against the insides of his lips to keep it that way. At first Alfred had stuck his tongue out of the hole, wiggling it around in empty air, but the ache of being unfamiliarly stretched quickly set in. Now, the muscles of his lips and cheek twitch from the tension and his tongue and throat are dry.

Uncomfortably dry.

Alfred’s pulled from his thoughts by a warm palm on his cheek, followed by, “Swallow slowly.”

Moments later, icy liquid is trickling over his tongue and down his throat. Despite the instructions, he still sputters a little, and the water is withdrawn.

“Easy,” Matthew says, his thumb back to stroking the sensitive skin of Alfred’s stretched bottom lip. It’s a weird sensation, and makes Alfred shiver. “Let’s try that again.”

This time Alfred’s prepared for the water and it feels good going down, refreshing, distracting him from the awkward positioning of his body. He drinks until Matthew decides he’s had enough and the cup is pulled away from him.

He feels the difference in the air when Matthew moves away, taking his body heat with him, and that makes Alfred shiver too. He tries to follow him with his eyes, but it’s a strain to look anywhere other than the ceiling so he settles with listening -- because as it turns out, Matthew has started talking again.

“I don’t think it’s customary to tell a slave why they’ve been bought or sold,” he hears Matthew saying from across the room, still in that soothing, slightly accented voice. “But would you like to know why I purchased you?”

The gurgling noise Alfred makes in response conveys his confusion well enough — _um, hello, kinda can’t talk here_ — that Matthew adds, “Don’t worry, I know you can’t answer me right now.”

There is a brief pause, then Matthew moves directly into Alfred's line of sight so that he can make sure he has Al's attention. And he does, if he can judge by the way the blonde looks at him, sky blue eyes wide and curious and almost-disturbingly trusting.

Even for someone whose known nothing but servitude for their entire life.

Hovering over Alfred, Matthew bends over just enough to slide two fingers into Al’s open mouth, stroking his tongue with the pads of his fingertips. Alfred makes a startled sound, trying instinctually to close his mouth to no avail. The way Matt touches his tongue, slowly from the middle to the tip, and watches him while he does it has a foreign, pleasant warmth twining in his belly.

Matt's fingertips drag over his bottom lip, spreading saliva across it, tracing up over his upper lip, until his mouth is shiny and sensitive. His breathing speeds up of its own accord, puffing out around Matthew’s fingers as they push into his mouth again; stroke the soft skin of his inner cheek.

Tied down like he is, Alfred can do nothing but tremble, but flex his fingers and toes against empty air, and listen as his new owner continues.

“I bought you for this,” Matthew says, still exploring the damp cavern of Alfred’s mouth. His voice is husky, alluring, helping that foreign warmth to root deeper in Alfred’s core and spread through his bound limbs. “And you say no one’s told you how pretty your mouth is before, huh? Hard to believe,”

A spike of panic jolts through Al and up his throat, manifesting itself as a violent twitch and alarmed squeak — _I’m not lying!_ — that comes out right as Matthew says, “but not impossible, right?”

And there’s that smile going up to his eyes again, like praise and kindness freely given, and Alfred thinks his insides might be melting with the sudden want to keep this owner -- _correction, Matthew_ \-- happy. He makes an agreeing, assenting sound, and, in a burst of inspiration, wriggles his tongue against where Matt’s fingertips rest in his mouth.

Matthew sucks in a sudden breath, cock twitching in his pants as he pulls away from Alfred. He lets the breath go as he stands upright, admiring the way Alfred’s eyes dart back and forth in an attempt to bring him back into focus. “I think you’re ready to begin,” Matt says, unbuckling his belt with dampened fingers.

_This is training,_ Alfred’s reminded in the back of his head, underneath the throb of heat and a new, novel desire. Matthew’s erect cock fills the narrow scope of his vision, thick and wide with the head positioned right over his open mouth. Alfred closes his eyes, swallowing tremulously, waiting for the first touch of Matthew’s cock to his lips.

Instead, there is the brush of a thumb over his chin first, followed by warmly murmured instructions. _Relax. It’s all you need to do for now._

Eyes still shut, Alfred takes a deep breath, uncurling his fingers and toes. He gets his first taste of Matthew on the exhale, musky and clean and not wholly unpleasant. It’s only a taste, because Matthew’s already pulling back out, cockhead brushing over his stretched lips. He inhales, and Matthew pushes in again, a little deeper, with a shaky sigh that Alfred takes as a _very good sign._

Back and forth, inch by inch, Matthew presses himself into the warm wetness of Alfred’s mouth. “You’re doing so good,” he breathes, pleasure pooling in his groin as Al’s tongue and throat flex around him, yielding to accommodate his girth.

Supporting Alfred’s head with his hands, Matthew feels Al’s shuddering response to his praise; he repeats himself, rocking deeper as he does so, and pulling his cock out of Al’s mouth brings up with it an urgent whimper that makes lust knot tighter in his belly. He’s been patiently assessing the depths of Alfred’s compliance this entire time, and now he has no doubts.

“You’re my first, you know,” Matthew says breathlessly, following the red flush that’s developing over Alfred’s body with his eyes. It goes all the way down to the bend of his knees, darkest where his cock rests, thick and erect and leaking sticky, clear fluid on the blonde’s thigh. His chest heaves with the breaths he tries to take between Matt’s cock sliding, easy now, against the tender flesh of his throat. “I haven’t bought any others. Never wanted to. Then I saw you.”

Matt’s words feel like a pillow talk confession as they leave his lips, a little more personal than he had intended to be, but they have the desired effect because Alfred shudders below him again, swallowing around his cock desperately, reflexively. Matthew can practically feel Al’s desire to please him seeping from his pores; in the way he goes a bit boneless, heavier in his grasp, letting Matt drive himself in over and over again.

Matthew curses, his orgasm coming upon him quick and sharp, like the burst of a firecracker. Alfred spasms beneath him, lashes fluttering from a total lack of air, leaving Matt scrambling to pull back. The aftershocks of pleasure buzz under his skin as he looks Al over, beginning the process of undoing his bonds.

Alfred is completely limp, dazed, lips and tongue vividly pink and streaked sticky white with Matthew’s come. He closes his mouth slowly when the O-ring is unbuckled and withdrawn, swallowing down the last of Matt’s come inadvertently. He’s hot and dizzy, his limbs tremble and everything, _everything_ aches. He can barely keep his eyes open.

He unfolds himself just as slowly when the rest of his restraints are removed, guided by Matthew until he’s lying horizontally, head pillowed on Matthew’s thighs. Al shivers as Matthew brushes hair away from his sweaty forehead, strangely comforting; it helps his breathing to come back under his own control.

Matthew’s touch moves from his hair to his bruised mouth, caressing gently and, thinking he’s being prompted, Al open his mouth again, expecting Matthew’s fingers to push inside.

Instead, they simply rest on his cheek.

 


End file.
